The Oldtimer Explains To The New Guy Why Gentrification Is So Difficult

She’s unloading Barbie dolls again. She does this
once or twice a year, dumping their limbless, headless bodies
off the edge of the back porch
into an old refrigerator box.

The neighbors watch her, the way we always do. Hell, I watch too.
From every building, from every roof, every window
and stoop, we watch her doing what we wish we could.
The neighbors always know the truth — that her hours of collecting

the broken toys from sad girls all over the city have led to this
again, and while we can’t imagine what drives her, we understand obsessions like hers,
obsessions like how Mary’s always calling Dali time to one and all —
“it’s eight pigeons past yesterday’s news,”

and how the mean ass beat cop is practicing the Miranda warning sotto voce
so he never gets it wrong again…”you have the right to remain
silent, anything you say…” Show me irresistible urges and I’ll show you
any down at the heels neighborhood full of mistakes no one will ever forgive.

You ought to join us. Use these words in a letter to yourself: “I was only looking for a free ride
past my own obsessions when I moved here to Anonymous, USA.” Prove to me you belong with us. You’re new here, but I bet you’ve got your own urges to deal with —
and if not, maybe you can give Barbie Girl

a hand moving that box to the garage
once it’s full which should be some time past the longhorse
vault of heaven, if Mary’s got it right today. If you’re not crazy like us,
at least prove you can hang with the gang.